


I Won't Touch You

by TigerOfSummer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Mutual Masturbation, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerOfSummer/pseuds/TigerOfSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor guards Sansa as she sleeps at the Gates of the Moon, and one night she dares to touch herself beneath the cover of her sheets. She thought she could get away with it, but she was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Touch You

**Author's Note:**

> Just, just... yeah. I wanted to put a scene like this somewhere in WKatF but it wouldn't really make any sense there, and I just really wanted to write this smut, so here it is. Sansa is aged up, of course. Enjoy.

When she crawled beneath her coverlet, she was no longer Alayne Stone. Safe in the confines of her bedchambers at the Gates of the Moon, Sansa could curl into herself, close her eyes, and remember where she had come from. Not Gulltown, not King’s Landing, but the North. _Winterfell._ Thoughts of returning home someday often brought her comfort, but this night she was not so safe, and other things occupied her mind.

“Good night,” she whispered through the darkness. The man sitting in the cushioned chair across the chamber looked up from where he was examining his dagger with exaggerated interest.

“Good night, little bird,” he rasped.

Sandor Clegane returned to ignoring her, and Sansa closed her eyes, trying to distract herself with thoughts of the day’s events. Trying to distract herself from _him._ Her thoughts went to those moments before Ser Shadrich attacked her, threatening to kidnap her. Her limbs had frozen in fear, and he had hit her and would have done worse if it were not for Brienne’s timely appearance. Shadrich’s blood had spattered on her face when the warrior gutted him. She shifted in the featherbed, twisting to the other side.

Sansa opened her eyes for a brief moment, seeing Sandor still occupying himself with his dagger. He held the pommel in one palm, the point sticking into the forefinger of his other hand, twisting playfully, dangerously. Moonlight reflected in the fine steel.

_He shouldn’t be here,_ a small voice said. _He should be guarding your door from the outside._ She closed her eyes. Petyr had assigned him nightly guardship duties after the attack, and she had taken advantage of that fact by inviting him into her chambers. _He is guarding me from the inside,_ she tried to rationalize, _I am safer this way._

But that had not been the true reason for her invitation at all. She had thought nothing of protection and only about _him_ \- his presence, his embrace, _his kiss._ Ever since his appearance at the Gates, Sansa noticed a change in him. The years at the Quiet Isle had changed him. He was no longer the angry Hound who had frightened her with his cruel words and truths. Now, he was calmer, quieter, still intimidating but no longer harsh with her. A part of her even thought he had grown fond of her. _He did kiss me…_ But that had been a dangerous mistake on both of their parts. It did no good to think on it any longer.

Sansa sighed and turned to lay on her back, frustrated that her mind would not quiet to allow for sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open just a pin’s width. The scarred side of his face was cast in shadow, and the dagger had stopped twisting. He was looking at her.

She shut her eyes tightly, hoping he had not noticed how many times she had glanced at him. _Sleep, you foolish girl,_ she scolded, _if you look you will give him ideas._

 _More than you already have?_ said another voice. She had invited him in, kissed him, and that was more than enough to lead any man to believe there would be more. But he did not press her, only accepted what she was willing to give. Allowed himself to be her plaything without asking anything in return. A wave of guilt washed through her, but that was overshadowed by a dull ache that pulsed between her legs when she thought of his kiss. It had brought her pleasure to feel his lips crushed against hers, his hot tongue tasting her, and on any other night she might have slipped a hand down under her smallclothes to satisfy that ache. Any other night that did not have the man himself sitting across from her in her bedchambers. One of her knees came up along the soft mattress, spreading her thighs and cooling the heat between her legs.

She cursed herself for insisting he should stay.

When she opened her eyes again for just a moment, he had leaned back in the chair, elbows rested on the armrests. His strong chest rose and fell with each breath, the heavy mailshirt cascading over his abdomen. His knees were spread wide in his breeches, and his large boots pointed out where they rested on the woven rug. He still had the dagger in his calloused hands, but his attentions were elsewhere. 

Some demon of mischief overtook her, and her hand came to rest low on her belly beneath the coverlet. _He cannot see me if I am covered,_ she reassured herself as her hand slipped lower, _just a little…_

Sansa almost sighed when she applied some light pressure over her nub. She bit her lip to keep from making any suspicious noises, forcing herself to keep her eyes closed and her movements imperceptible. But that was difficult, because imperceptible movements did nothing to ease her ache, and keeping her eyes closed meant she could not look at him.

So Sansa rested her cheek on her pillow and looked at him from under her lashes. Straight, black hair hung over the sides of his face, and beneath his heavy brow he was watching her with intent. His jaw visibly tightened, and he lifted his dagger again, dragging his gaze away from her and looking at the object instead.

She had not noticed that her knuckles were plainly moving beneath the coverlet and quickly recovered herself, stilling her hand completely. He pushed the point of the dagger onto his finger again, the middle this time, hard enough to indent the skin but light enough so as not to draw blood. He had long fingers, and hands that appeared strong with years of wielding arduous weapons. Sansa pressed herself hard.

And let out a hum. Almost imperceptible, but enough to get him to look up again. She pretended to sleep, her heart thudding in her chest. There was a shifting sound from the chair. Curiosity got the best of her, and she dared to peak.

Sandor held a tight grip on the dagger. Then, slowly, he set it down on a nearby table. The hands that played with the weapon now went to the laces of his breeches, and Sansa only just then noticed the long ridge that tented the fabric in his lap. Her heart beat harder and a surge of wetness went to her cunt. Her hand was still there. She could feel it.

The laces of his breeches were completely undone now, and she had completely forgotten about hiding her stare when he dug one hand into his breeches and drew out his long shaft, giving himself one good pull. She gaped at him.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Sansa hissed, feeling scandalized but also feeling… _no, this is dangerous-_

“Same thing as you,” he rasped, rubbing himself slowly in front of her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sansa could barely form words. His knees were spread wide, and his cock was thick and long even in his large hand, the head peaking out from his fist with every thrust, his other hand pressing down around the base. A wetness glistened at the head.

“Stop it,” she ordered, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably.

His hand stilled, but his scars twisted in amusement. “Will you?”

“I-I wasn’t-”

“Don’t lie,” he said darkly, “I can smell your sex from here.” She felt a heat rise in her chest and face, and then she went to her elbows when he stood, made to walk over to her. His stiff cock lobbed slightly with each step.

“What are you doing?” she asked again, an excited nervousness filling her senses.

“Finish what you started,” he ordered. 

Sansa just stared at him. “You’re mad.”

A hand came down to throw back her coverlet, baring her exposed legs, the skirt of her nightshift gathered around her waist. “You started playing with yourself while I was here,” he said, “now you’ll show me how you finish yourself, little bird.” 

Sandor made himself comfortable once again on the chair, his hand going down to tug at his length again. He watched her, waiting. “Go on, then. I won’t touch you.”

Her mind was reeling. She was utterly embarrassed at being caught in the act, but seeing him do the same in front of her was another kind of madness entirely. She tried not to watch as his hand rubbed his thickness slowly and lightly, a finger following a deep blue vein that came up from the thick, black hair at the base. A strong desire to feel the pulse there raked through her.

She tried to relax, watching him from beyond the foot of her featherbed. _This is what you wanted, what you dreamed of,_ a demon within her said. Her cunt was pulsing again as she watched him, and her hand went down to her cleft again. _He won’t touch me, it will be as nothing._

Resting her head on the pillow, she pressed down on herself over her smallclothes as Sandor quickened his thrusts. She was being purposefully quiet as she watched his hand working his cock, though she wanted to hum with pleasure. Her fingers pressed harder. He could see all of her clearly from where he sat, and she knew that. Her thighs spread further.

“Show me your cunt,” he said hoarsely, his fist dragging along his thickness.

Sansa sucked in a breath at the intense ache those words elicited. She pulled off her smallclothes, lifting her feet in the air to do so, showing him more of herself and not caring one bit. Then she went back to her sex, circling her sensitive nub in earnest, knowing he could see.

A low sound rumbled from his chest. Sansa felt herself getting close, and he was fucking into his hand faster now. Then he spoke.

“Spread yourself,” he growled. Sansa’s lips parted in a pant, and her hand went to her cunt, two fingers spreading the lips there, showing him her nub and hole. He sighed in satisfaction. “Finger yourself, little bird.”

Sansa went to one elbow, watching him as he leered at her intently. His fist slowed. One of her fingers slipped into herself slowly, just a fraction. “Like this?” she teased, drawing pleasure from the look of awe on his face.

“Aye, just like that,” he rasped, pumping himself harshly. Sansa moved the finger in and out of herself for a few moments longer, the wetness coating her hand. She could not help it anymore, and returned to her nub to rub hard and fast for some long moments of sweet, pulsing pleasure that flooded her body, emanating all throughout her limbs. She was gasping by the time her pleasure was done, and went back to fingering herself seeing Sandor had not finished yet.

“Slip in another,” he demanded, and Sansa fitted two fingers inside herself, stretching her warm walls around her slender fingers. He was close, she could hear it in his voice, his ragged breaths. “What were you thinking?” he asked suddenly, “before, when you started.”

“You,” she admitted, her fingers still working herself, “I was thinking of you.”

His brow furrowed then, his eyes shutting tightly and his other hand going to catch the streams of white liquid that erupted from his cock. “ _Sansa,_ ” he said in one long, ragged breath. He was still coming. “ _Fuck_.”

She smiled.


End file.
